


Pop the Top II snippet

by moor



Series: Smut Monday [16]
Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Marking, Modern AU, Nsfw?, a/b/o au, implied - Freeform, pop the top 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moor/pseuds/moor
Summary: Requested by @naplumod!Set somewhere after the end of Pop the Top Ch 4.





	Pop the Top II snippet

Madara looked up at the knock on his door. It was rare for him to have unannounced company at his private residence. He glanced at the clock on his mobile phone. Particularly company after 9 p.m. on a weeknight.

Leaving his concierge to answer it, Madara returned to reviewing the photographs on his computer as he lay on his black leather couch, a glass of ice water beside him on the coffee table.  His dark eyes traced each figure on his screen, each scene, each detail lovingly, longingly, covetously. For the hundredth time his thumb, at the edge of the screen gently stroked the frame of the laptop monitor as his thoughts wandered.

None of his colleagues had mentioned it to him outright, but there were rumours. He’d heard their whispers, when they thought he wasn’t paying attention, or when they assumed he was out of earshot. That he’d stopped drinking. That he’d lost weight. That he had changed, that he was less driven, less focused, less… Less.

They couldn’t be more wrong, of course.

He hadn’t changed. He’d confronted. He’d adapted.

—and he’d lost.

Most importantly, he’d learned.

But…

Madara exhaled all at once, his fingers stilling as the slideshow paused on a particular photograph. He always stopped at this one. This one, paired with another, were the reasons he held any hope at all.

Was it worth harbouring that hope much longer, though?  
He’d heard nothing out of Sakura, Itachi and Shisui for several weeks. The clan had brought no fresh news to him of Itachi’s request for clan residency for Sakura; nor had anyone announced news of any pending engagements or—his heart twisted inside his chest painfully—triad settlement paperwork.

He listened for any hint of such news, from any quarter of the clan.

It wasn’t like Madara to be maudlin. It wasn’t like him to sit alone, staring at the past. It was in him, in his nature, to constantly strive, constantly surpass, constantly strategize, to win, to conquer, to achieve whatever he set his sights upon, no matter what it took. Had he ever given up before in his life? Given up without a proper struggle or fight?

What was wrong with him? Why did he do it now?

The picture on the screen haunted him.

His eyes softened at the corners as his expression fell.

_The look on her face—_

Madara knew. Because what he considered his prize… did not consider him the same way. In fact, she considered his presence in her life a punishment.

When his concierge, Obito, came to knock on his door, Madara had just switched to his very favourite image from the series he’d taken, months before.

“A guest to see you, sir,” said Obito.

“Who is—”

But Madara already knew, as the scent of her perfume, of the inklings of her heat, wafted through to him.

“We need to talk,” said Sakura, coming out from beside Obito.

On his screen, Madara glanced down at the photo of Sakura, lying naked on the plush carpet, curled into Madara’s side with his arms around her.

He closed the top of the laptop, secreting away the fantasy.

“What makes you think I want anything to do with you?” asked Madara in a bored tone.

Sakura looked at Obito meaningfully.

_Damn._

A quick look from Madara sent Obito away.

When they were alone, Sakura crossed her arms and swallowed.

“I need to know,” she said, her voice carefully controlled, “What it means.”

“What what means?” asked Madara, feigning ignorance.

Sakura hesitated a moment, before undoing the top buttons of her blouse.

Madara’s heart rate skyrocketed, his lips parting at the sight, until Sakura half-turned from him, baring the back of her shoulder where the junction met her neck.

Madara’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening at what he saw, until he stood, approaching her to get a closer look.

His large hand settled gently on her shoulder, the other lifting Sakura’s hair out of the way to be sure.

Exhaling swiftly, Madara’s hands froze.

“You see, then,” said Sakura matter-of-factly. “It’s not Itachi’s mark.”

No, it wasn’t, Madara realized.

_But how was it…_

“Or Shisui’s. Do you know whose mark it is?” pushed Sakura.

Madara recognized it immediately, but he remained silent, waiting for Sakura to reveal more.  
  
“No one but Itachi or Shisui has ever marked me. I don’t know whose it is,” said Sakura. She tugged her blouse forward again, redoing her buttons.

Madara released her shoulder, letting Sakura’s hair fall delicately against her flushed skin as she turned to look at him fiercely. Had it not been for her overly direct manner, he may not have recognized the hint of vulnerability in the troubled depths of her eyes.

“I know you know,” she said, her voice strong. Then, as an afterthought, “Please. Tell me.”

For a long, long minute, the silence stretched between them. They had never parted on good terms. She wanted nothing to do with him.

Yet here she was, begging him for his help, alone, and just as her heat threatened to overtake her. She had to be desperate to do something so foolish. Foolish, and possibly afraid.

She’d come to him anyway.

—Which meant a part of her must still trust him.

Madara lifted his hand again, tucking some of Sakura’s silky hair behind her ear. His hand trailed down the back of her neck to cup her head. The shiver she gave in his hands made something primal twist inside him possessively.

Then he leaned forward, whispering softly, hungrily, his lips skimming the shell of her ear and throat.

“What would you give… to find out?”


End file.
